Derelict beach hotel is no treasure

Published: Tuesday, February 5, 2013 at 3:49 p.m.

Last Modified: Tuesday, February 5, 2013 at 5:48 p.m.

Sometimes a town measures its progress by what gets built. Sometimes by what gets torn down.

Of the dead hotels up and down Atlantic Avenue, none is bigger and deader than Treasure Island in Daytona Beach Shores. And it's still up.

When a failed property is a certain size, its abandonment and decay get hard to ignore.

Like a dead whale washing up on the beach: People first come by to wonder at it, then it starts to stink up the neighborhood, and then disposing of it becomes a massive undertaking.

And that's how it has been with the Treasure Island Resort, aka Treasure Island Inn, aka Treasure Island Hotel.

Built during the high tide of the beachside building boom of the 1970s, its construction was a statement.

It was evidence that beachside tourism had outgrown the traditional Daytona Beach core, which was getting older, more citylike and less resortlike, and in any case, couldn't contain the crowds.

Travelers wanted something newer and spiffier than was being offered. And Daytona Beach Shores was not too far away from the action to make this work. Heck, the Shores might even become the action.

Eleven stories! Elaborate Tiki garden and bar! Multilevel pool decks overlooking two swimming pools! Two hundred and twenty-seven rooms! A lounge with live music and dancing! And a grand entranceway with a wooden, Polynesian-style overhanging roof.

It towered above squat mom-and-pop cinderblock affairs nearby.

This would be the area's new face. We were joining the big boys. This was the kind of complex that would attract conferences, return visits and a better kind of year-around tourism.

Now it attracts people stealing scrap metal.

Bloggers have posted moody pictures of these impressive beachfront ruins online, as though this was Detroit or some other half-abandoned city instead of the Shores. These make it look like the backdrop to one of those sci-fi movies where survivors huddle in the vandalized remains of once-great civilizations.

The hotel had been renovated in 2001, but the hurricanes of 2004 did it in. Then, the Great Florida Real Estate Bubble really did it in.

This was one of 35 area hotels Bray & Gillespie bought during the boom, and when the company went into bankruptcy in 2008, the hotel's fate got particularly complicated. The whale had beached.

When the city of Daytona Beach Shores filed suit in 2011 to get the thing torn down, a dozen defendants were named because it was that unclear who owned it —all those liens, bankruptcies, suits and countersuits.

The wooden Tiki bar in back is supposed to be demolished soon, the city says. It's leaning and looks particularly forlorn.

Next door, the Sunny Shore Resort is already torn down except for the sign. The Sunny Shore was a cute, little hotel that lived its whole 35-year life literally in the shadow of its big neighbor.

Across the street are a vacant lot, empty storefronts, Pleasures Adult Emporium and Generation X Piercing and Tattoos. A giant dead hotel isn't doing much for the neighborhood.

It's amazing that almost nine years after the hotel closed, it's still sitting empty. A roadside symbol of how hard it's been for Florida to clean up after the Great Florida Real Estate Bubble.

<p>Sometimes a town measures its progress by what gets built. Sometimes by what gets torn down. </p><p>Of the dead hotels up and down Atlantic Avenue, none is bigger and deader than Treasure Island in Daytona Beach Shores. And it's still up. </p><p>When a failed property is a certain size, its abandonment and decay get hard to ignore. </p><p>Like a dead whale washing up on the beach: People first come by to wonder at it, then it starts to stink up the neighborhood, and then disposing of it becomes a massive undertaking. </p><p>And that's how it has been with the Treasure Island Resort, aka Treasure Island Inn, aka Treasure Island Hotel. </p><p>Built during the high tide of the beachside building boom of the 1970s, its construction was a statement. </p><p>It was evidence that beachside tourism had outgrown the traditional Daytona Beach core, which was getting older, more citylike and less resortlike, and in any case, couldn't contain the crowds. </p><p>Travelers wanted something newer and spiffier than was being offered. And Daytona Beach Shores was not too far away from the action to make this work. Heck, the Shores might even become the action. </p><p>Eleven stories! Elaborate Tiki garden and bar! Multilevel pool decks overlooking two swimming pools! Two hundred and twenty-seven rooms! A lounge with live music and dancing! And a grand entranceway with a wooden, Polynesian-style overhanging roof. </p><p>It towered above squat mom-and-pop cinderblock affairs nearby. </p><p>This would be the area's new face. We were joining the big boys. This was the kind of complex that would attract conferences, return visits and a better kind of year-around tourism. </p><p>Now it attracts people stealing scrap metal. </p><p>Bloggers have posted moody pictures of these impressive beachfront ruins online, as though this was Detroit or some other half-abandoned city instead of the Shores. These make it look like the backdrop to one of those sci-fi movies where survivors huddle in the vandalized remains of once-great civilizations. </p><p>The hotel had been renovated in 2001, but the hurricanes of 2004 did it in. Then, the Great Florida Real Estate Bubble really did it in. </p><p>This was one of 35 area hotels Bray & Gillespie bought during the boom, and when the company went into bankruptcy in 2008, the hotel's fate got particularly complicated. The whale had beached. </p><p>When the city of Daytona Beach Shores filed suit in 2011 to get the thing torn down, a dozen defendants were named because it was that unclear who owned it &mdash;all those liens, bankruptcies, suits and countersuits. </p><p>The wooden Tiki bar in back is supposed to be demolished soon, the city says. It's leaning and looks particularly forlorn. </p><p>Next door, the Sunny Shore Resort is already torn down except for the sign. The Sunny Shore was a cute, little hotel that lived its whole 35-year life literally in the shadow of its big neighbor. </p><p>Across the street are a vacant lot, empty storefronts, Pleasures Adult Emporium and Generation X Piercing and Tattoos. A giant dead hotel isn't doing much for the neighborhood. </p><p>It's amazing that almost nine years after the hotel closed, it's still sitting empty. A roadside symbol of how hard it's been for Florida to clean up after the Great Florida Real Estate Bubble.</p>